Tale of the Moss

I shiver to think, I was always told as a girl, never to answer when you hear your name being called outside only once, and never to respond to the cry of a foreign child. I guess my grandma was wiser than I knew. To this day, I never look out at babies crying in the night…here is why.

Dat Bwoi for Jackie

As a boy growing up on the island of Dominica (as in the Nature Isle) I heard a lot of folktales, superstitions, myths, jumbie stories and the like. In my youth such tales were commonplace and told with a certain fervor that led one to believe that the truth within these tales might be much larger than just a grain. As a matter of fact, these stories were woven into the tapestry of our lives. You saw it as the sea sand on the window sill, smelt it in the strong scent of ‘Jays’ and ‘Satifidah’ wafting in the early morning breeze, heard it in the whispering leaves of herbs strung along the doorways, windows and ceiling. Though you may scoff and dismiss the tales that enraptured you, laughing quietly under breath held too long as the shadows danced around you, deep down you sensed a bit of something ethereal…

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